


Time Is Running out (but We Are Running Free)

by marauders_groupie



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Actors, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Social Media
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-30
Updated: 2016-04-30
Packaged: 2018-06-03 10:11:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6606946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marauders_groupie/pseuds/marauders_groupie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts because of a show about space pirates and mojitos. And everyone loves an off-screen romance between co-stars.</p><p>Or: Bellarke co-stars fake dating AU.</p><p>*</p><p>“So, what? We just do this? Fake dating?” Bellamy asks, leaning forward on his forearms, bewildered.</p><p>“I don’t see a problem, then. Just do what you’re usually doing. Tweet at each other, but don’t confirm anything.”  With that, Anya focuses all of her attention on Bellamy and Clarke. There’s steely determination in her eyes as she announces, “We’re going to slow burn the hell out of this.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time Is Running out (but We Are Running Free)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [princessofgriffindor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/princessofgriffindor/gifts).



> This fic was written as a part of Bellarke Spring Fling, for the lovely Bianca. I hope you like it - I saw fake dating and actors in your prompts and I couldn't help myself. 
> 
> Also, a huge thanks to [Bethany](http://archiveofourown.org/users/bowlingfornerds) for beta-ing!
> 
> Enjoy!

no1princessclarkefan: @princesscgriffin OMG is it true ur dating bellamy blake?

(1) new text message from Anya Woods: Do NOT do anything about the rumors. See you on the set.

*

Clarke Griffin is not a morning person. In fact, most of the mornings, she’s not even a _person_. More like a zombie incapable of human speech patterns, just groaning and growling.

That’s probably why the first thing she does after another ping sounds is slam her fist on the night table, regretting everything there ever was to regret in her life. Her hangover is the worst and the constant pinging isn’t helping at all.

When she bats her eyelids open and resists the urge to close them again because people like her were _not_ made for the early morning light – she enters the passcode, only to be met with at least fifty tweets and ten text messages, all interested in finding out one thing.

Is she, Clarke Griffin, dating her co-star, Bellamy Blake?

“What the _fuck_.”

Even her voice is unnaturally loud for this time of day and she flinches automatically, bringing her phone under the covers to scroll through her twitter feed. It seems like Bellamy’s been getting same questions but Clarke has no idea why anyone would even think something so ridiculous.

Sure, Bellamy is pretty awesome, as far as actors go – he’s not an asshole who disrespects the rest of his cast and the crew, she has fun working with him and they do hang out in their trailers between takes, but.

She’s not _dating_ him. No, that’s a whole another world.

So the first thing she does when she realizes the epic proportion of this is call him, swearing under her breath until she hears a groan, presumably Bellamy’s.

“Have you seen your phone?”

She imagines him blinking, messy hair and shit. The regular Bellamy, the same way he is every time they get preposterously drunk in the Dropship after a long day.

“I think I am _holding_ my phone?”

“People think we’re dating, Bellamy!” she shout-whispers, unsure as to why. It’s not like the paparazzi have mics in her apartment.

This startles a snort out of him and she hears something falling on the other side of the line. “Are we? I mean, I’m pretty sure I’d remember, but.”

“Asshole. No, we aren’t. Anya doesn’t want me to do anything about the rumors yet.”

“So don’t. We can be vague about it.”

“Vagueing on twitter?” She rolls her eyes, running a hand through her hair. “How unlike you, Blake.”

A moment of silence and then she hears him sigh, one of those long-suffering sighs he’s probably spent years trying to perfect.

“Wanna carpool to the set? Present a united front?”

“Fuck yes.”

*

lisert5ever: @princesscgriffin @belugablake  ENEMIES TO LOVERS I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS SHIT

*

 

The only reason any of this is happening is because Clarke was stupid enough to audition for a sci-fi show about space pirates. It sounded like a dream at first. Her character, Lisbeth, was bisexual, just like Clarke, and she wasn’t afraid to kick ass when needed. Bellamy’s character, Robert, was somewhat tamer, more on the intellectual side of brain vs. brawn. In any case, they were polar opposites who – according to some fans – attracted.

At first, Bellamy and Clarke didn’t get along. He was the sort of person who did his own stunts, worked his ass off to get to where he was, and to him, Clarke was nothing more than a Hollywood princess with both of her parents in the business.

“Careful, princess, you might chip a nail,” was the first thing he ever said to her, when she went to pick up Raven’s motorcycle helmet, and it would’ve all gone to shit had they not gotten drunk two months into filming, solving all of their disputes.

Now the show has been renewed for a third season, the ratings are skyrocketing and, according to Anya –

“The rumors might not even be so bad.”

When Bellamy’s jaw drops to the floor, Clarke has to say she agrees with the reaction. “You’re kidding, right? Bellamy and I - we aren’t dating, Anya. I don’t even know where this is coming from.”

Their publicist just raises one perfectly shaped eyebrow, as if daring Clarke, and asks, “You really don’t?”

With that, she slides her iPad across the table and Bellamy grabs it instantly, making Clarke lean into him to see a blurry photo that’s supposed to be the two of them.

“Oh, shit,” Bellamy mutters, shifting so Clarke can see better. In a second, Clarke becomes acutely aware of how close and solid he is, and how he still smells like the mojitos they drank last night. It’s not important, but – she can see why people would want to date him.

It really is the two of them in the photo, standing in front of the Dropship, her hair frizzy and his locks permanently disheveled. Her hands are resting on his shoulders, their torsos pressed against one another, and Bellamy has a goofy smile on his face as he holds her high heels out of her reach.

They exchange a worried look before returning their attention to Anya, who’s grinning like the cat that just got the canary. Seeing as she’s always perfectly calm and composed, it’s a pretty big deal.

“I don’t care what happened last night but Thelonious and I agreed that this would be good for the show. Everyone loves an off-screen romance.”

Bellamy sputters next to Clarke and she hits his back lightly, smiling at the grateful look in his eyes. The circles under his eyes are even darker than hers and she knows Maya’s going to go positively murderous when she has to do their makeup.

“So, what? We just do this? Fake dating?” Bellamy asks, leaning forward on his forearms, bewildered.

“It doesn’t make sense, Anya.”

“Are either of you two dating anyone?”

They shake their heads in unison. Clarke’s fling with Lexa left her crying in the bathtub for three days before Raven broke the door to her apartment and physically dragged her out. Bellamy’s relationship with Gina ended on somewhat better terms but it still sparked rumors that it had been Clarke’s fault.

“I don’t see a problem, then. Just do what you’re usually doing,” she tells them, waving her hand noncommittally. “Tweet at each other, but don’t confirm anything.”

With that, she focuses all of her attention on Bellamy and Clarke. There’s steely determination in her eyes as she announces, “We’re going to slow burn the hell out of this.”

 

*

belugablake: never go out drinking with @princesscgriffin

lisert5ever: @belugablake u speaking from experience?

belugablake: @lisert5ever unfortunately.

princesscgriffin: @belugablake idk why i even like u

*

 

“Lisert shippers are obviously having a field day,” Jasper says, cross-legged on the floor of Clarke’s trailer, tapping away furiously on his phone. The gang met up there, mostly coincidentally because everyone wanted to know how it was possible for Bellamy and Clarke to get together without anyone noticing.

When Raven saw Bellamy passed out on the couch and a very exasperated Clarke in her Lisbeth makeup, she just shrugged. “Yeah, I can totally see it.”

And now it’s twenty minutes until they film a scene that has their gang fighting off a bunch of Martian colonialists, Bellamy’s just ended a call with his sister and Jasper is having the time of his life reading the tweets.

Raven throws herself into Clarke’s lap, shifting a little so she’s more comfortable, and the two of them shout in unison, “Morli forever!”

“Okay,” Bellamy rolls his eyes, draping a hand over them right afterwards. It’s almost incredible how he can fall asleep wherever he lands. Clarke is very jealous. “We all ship Morgaine and Lisbeth, it’s part of the deal. Now shut up and let me sleep.”

Raven’s character, Morgaine, is a kickass pilot, and Morgaine and Lisbeth are canon. What a time to be alive. The cast isn’t privy to how the show is supposed to end but all of them are hoping Morli is endgame.

“Who the hell put a bee in your bonnet, Blake?” Raven asks, leaning her head against Clarke’s, albeit carefully. Maya is definitely going to kill them if they screw up their hair and makeup.

Bellamy shoots a glare in Clarke’s general direction. “This one here. Woke me up and asked if we were dating. At ten a.m.”

“Yeah, because I love being woken up by a hundred twitter notifications. There’s something about violent pinging that soothes my soul.”

“Rude.”

Clarke sticks out her tongue at him and literally no one is surprised.

The rest of the day goes well, as well as it can go when your characters are fighting off a bunch of colonialists, the special effects team is running around trying to assemble everyone properly in front of green screens and there’s also gossip that has everyone side-eyeing every Clarke and Bellamy’s interaction.

At the end of the day, she’s just happy to get into Bellamy’s car, prop her feet up on the dashboard and turn the music on. The radio is playing a tune perfect for the beginning of summer, Bellamy is humming along to it and the sky turns from bruised purple to the darkest of blues as they sit in the traffic.

It’s easy, with Bellamy. They don’t even have to talk most of the time, no awkward silences to fill between them. Clarke is perfectly content to just tap her fingers against the window in rhythm to the music.

And then Bellamy says, “Did you know O thought we were really dating?”

Clarke thinks he looks a little hesitant, but it might be just a trick of light, so she shrugs. “Did she?”

“Oh, yeah. Something about how we didn’t get along at first and – “ he trails off, switches into the right lane. The car in front of them honks its horn, it’s still a long way to their hotel. “I think she’s full of it.”

“But you _did_ hate me at first,” Clarke reminds him, weaving her fingers through her hair. At the end of the day, there’s crusted fake blood in it and it’s so tangled she might just need to cut it all off.

A moment of silence stretches between them, both remembering those hard first few weeks when Bellamy had something to say about anything Clarke did. Even the way she drank her coffee seemed to insult him (“Vanilla late? Seriously?”).

And then they got drunk, horribly so. Monty, from AV department, made his own moonshine in the hotel bathtub, and the ten of them just crashed in the middle of Clarke’s room. She accused Bellamy of hating her for no real reason and he didn’t deny it.

“I had a chip on my shoulder. I’m sorry.”

She pats his hand on the stick shift, ignores the little electric current sizzling between them. It’s just their characters, it’s just on-screen chemistry, nothing else to it.

“It’s fine. I did get a lot of chances because of my parents. But my talent, that’s what _I’ve_ got.”

With years, she’s become horribly proud of it, so much she threatened to kick Bellamy’s ass when he challenged her on it. Her lineage – that’s not something she could be proud of. Neither are her looks. But her talent – yeah, that’s on her. Her work is what makes her who she is.

Bellamy looks at her, fond, and maybe it’s because they’re both tired and raw, practically split open, but he sounds even more honest. “I know that now. You’re an incredible actress and you should be proud of yourself. And we’re good now, you and I, right?”

She smiles at him, every ounce of it as tired as she feels.

“Yeah, you and I, we’ll always be good.”

Praise always sounded better dripping from his lips, anyway.

 

*

arkadiadaily: Bellarke is REAL and CONFIRMED

*

 

“Oh, did you know we have a ship name?”

Bellamy is always a mess in the mornings. It’s probably part of his charm. The papers call it ‘sex hair’, the fans swoon over it and Clarke just tells him to get a hairbrush.

He’s currently sitting hunched over what’s probably his third mug of coffee in a vinyl booth in Murphy’s, a diner just down the street from their hotel. Coincidentally, it’s also the only place where no one gave a shit about who they were – and they were sure no one would call the paparazzi. The first time they stumbled in here, the owner – John Murphy - just gave them a disinterested once-over and said “I don’t give a fuck who you are, as long as you tip well.”

Which is probably why Murphy’s is their safe haven and Clarke takes a seat across from Bellamy, grinning as she slides her phone over. Bellamy reads through the article and returns her phone with a scowl.

“ _Bellarke,_ ” he tries it out, scrunching his nose up in disgust. “What sort of a name is that? Why can’t we just be Bellamy and Clarke?

“It’s what the kids are doing these days.” She smiles at the waitress who brings her coffee. “Besides, you know how Jaha is. He probably _demanded_ a ship name.”

At the mention of the show runner’s name, both of them go eerily quiet. Thelonious Jaha is – well, first of all, he’s Clarke estranged godfather (estranged both from his son, Wells, Clarke’s best friend, and the world in general) and then he’s just plain weird. Bellamy’s gotten a rifle as a gift because his character carries one around all the time and Clarke’s had a bucket of fake blood dropped over her head.

Because method acting.

Whatever the fuck that means.

“He probably did,” Bellamy agrees, suddenly very serious. He’s still got pillow creases on his left cheek and Clarke reaches for them, trying to smooth them away. It doesn’t work but he smirks at her. That definitely doesn’t make her blush.

(It does. She blames it on the weather.)

“You ever wonder how we got here?” she asks, just to change the subject. She doesn’t want to think about how his gaze softens on her sometimes, a far cry from the hard edges he usually is. She doesn’t want to think about how no one is surprised they are dating, how every article listing why they called Bellarke even before it happened makes good points, doesn’t want to think about how just sitting and eating fast food in her hotel bedroom with him feels like a secret, good moment.

Bellamy nods. “We were crazy enough to audition for a show about space pirates. I hated you, you wouldn’t put up with my shit. We bonded over Jaha being absolutely out of it. Friendship material.”

Friendship. Yeah. The sort of friendship that ends up with the two of them in her hotel room at the end of the night, Bellamy knocking on her door with Pad Thai and a bottle of vodka as she gets Netflix running.

Friendship, when he settles in next to her like he’s done so many times, but there were photographers on the set today and his curls brushed against her cheek whenever he’d lean in to whisper something fake-romantic in her ear. It usually just turned out to be “Sea otters hold hands when they sleep to keep from drifting apart” or “Did you know Norway knighted a penguin?” but no one has to know that. It still made her smile.

Still, her favorite sort is holding her feet in his lap as he gently traces her calves, almost unaware that he’s doing it. Days like these, he wears glasses and they’re almost always crooked on his nose. Days like these, that’s her favorite Bellamy, the one she can find burrowed under his covers with the Iliad in original ancient Greek and a dictionary.

The nerd who smiles at her when she asks, “Do you feel like pointing out historical inaccuracies in the Troy or in Spartacus today?”

“The answer is going to be Spartacus, always.”

She climbs over his lap to press the button and then it’s easy, take a shot for every inaccuracy he points out, take two if someone fucks, another one if Bellamy groans and his head hits the headboard as he says, “With all those wars, you would’ve thought they had other priorities.”

“It’s the now or never mindset, Bellamy. And shut up, you sound like Jaha.”

He pinches her ankle and Clarke swats at his arm. She’s got enough alcohol in her bloodstream after two episodes of Spartacus to feel fuzzy inside, so she collapses on his shoulder, sighing.

“Did you know that I’m psychic?”

Bellamy shifts to wrap an arm around her waist and she feels his breath, warm, on her cheek. “Really?”

Clarke hums in confirmation, untangling herself from him to reach for his hand. She makes a show of tracing his lifeline, frowns when she pokes the center of his palm and finally says, “It says here you’re a nerd.”

Bellamy just lets out a long-suffering groan. “You’re the worst, Griffin.”

“Nope,” she chirps, popping the p audibly. “I’m your favorite, you know it.”

What she doesn’t expect is Bellamy to smile, the lazy kind that pulls the corners of his mouth upwards and shows her all of his pearly teeth, stark contrast against tan skin and dark freckles scattered across his cheeks like someone thought it would be too fair not to make him so beautiful.

“Yeah, Clarke. You’re my favorite.”

 

*

ravenreyes: 2 hours till comic con! who’s excited???

princesscgriffin: not @belugablake

*

 

“Okay, this really makes it look like we’re dating.”

“It’s just you passed out in a hotel bed. It could be anyone’s.”

Bellamy shoots her an unimpressed glare and Clarke caves in, flops back down on the same bed she’s gotten Bellamy out of just a few minutes earlier. “Yeah, okay.”

It’s been two months ever since they started “dating” and it wasn’t as bad as Clarke thought. Sure, she put up with a lot of Raven’s “I told you so, you totally want to jump his bones now, don’t you?” and she is right, but Clarke would never admit that.

It’s just – Bellamy is her friend, her co-star. He’s the one who groans in unison with her over their first morning coffee, he’s the one who lets her win in Mario Kart when they’re bored in between takes, and it’s comfortable – what they have. Why ruin it?

Except that, lately, she’s started thinking about what it would be like if they were more. If she could just hold his hand in her free time, if his kisses would taste like fighting with him – all fervor and passion, if, if – a lot of ifs she’ll never get the answer to.

Because Bellamy is in his sweatpants, two hours before Comic Con, wearing a threadbare shirt he’s probably had since he was eighteen, and he absolutely does not feel the same way.

When the press is near, he holds her hand, tucks her into his side and often presses a kiss or two to the top of her head, but that’s it. As soon as there’s no more camera flashes around them, his hands are back into his pockets and he’s nudging her shoulder companionably, leaving her feeling sort of empty.

It’s just a crush, she’ll get over it. She’s done it before.

But then Bellamy smiles at her, kneeling on his bedroom floor and looking under his bed, only to unearth a bag of chips and dangle it in front of her.

“We’re going to be late,” she hisses, but she’s already making room on the bed for him to join her. He settles in comfortably, like always, their thighs and shoulders pressed together.

And then he shifts, scoffs like he’s trying to make a decision – altogether with his brow furrowed, only to end up with an arm around her shoulders. He seems hesitant again, almost childishly so when he asks, “Do you mind?”

“Yeah, no, absolutely.”

With that, she snuggles into his side and steals the potato chip he’s been holding. Bellamy pretends to be pissed off for a while and she revels in every second of it, waggling her eyebrows at him.

(He still doesn’t let go of her and Clarke does not care. Really, it’s all the same to her.)

That’s exactly how Raven finds them, half an hour later, snuggled in Bellamy’s bed and giggling under the covers. He presses a finger to his lips before shouting, “We’re not here!”

It’s actually amazing, how much he doesn’t like big crowds. After knowing him for as long as she’s known him, Clarke’s gotten to realize that Bellamy Blake is actually just an eighty year old man trapped in a hot guy’s body. The latter part is the one that’s bugging her, even as he presses his forehead to hers as Raven’s heels click against the floor around them.

“Ssh, she’ll hear us,” Clarke whispers, pulling him in closer. He’s very warm, almost uncomfortably so, his hair is the fucking worst and still, her gaze drops to his lips.

It takes her too long to realize that he’s looking at her with dark eyes, almost frozen with his fingers on her hips, and Clarke’s heart flips in her chest. It’s not –

“We – “ he starts, voice hoarse and very, very serious. His fingers are still on her hips, skin burning up even through her jeans.

Clarke never gets to find out what he wanted to say because Raven pulls away the covers, exposing them to way too much sunlight. Bellamy’s hands leave her hips instantly as he rolls around, planting his face in the pillow.

“Real cute, Reyes.”

When Clarke looks at Raven, she’s just met with a pitying stare.

“Octavia sent you something,” Raven tells them, dropping a big brown box between them. Bellamy gets to it first, uncovering a bright purple hat with stamped ‘BLAKE’ on it and a couple of T-shirts that have Clarke laughing.

Raven snags one for herself immediately, throwing it over a tank top and checking herself out in the mirror.

Meanwhile, Clarke just wants the secret to how Bellamy is able to look good with that ridiculous hat on and his hair as messy as ever.

“Come on, Blake,” she pokes him in the side. “I want in on the merch.”

 

*

arkadiadaily: Clarke Griffin or Clarke Blake? Are we invited to Bellarke wedding?

*

 

“I mean, I’m just offended, you know?” Clarke says, leaning forward to speak into her mic more clearly. Bellamy’s sniggering at her right. “Clarke Blake? Never.”

There’s some commotion in the public and then someone shouts out, “What about Bellamy Griffin?” and Clarke elbows him in the ribs. Her purple shirt looks good on her, except there’s a #BLAKE on her back and now people are speculating they’re getting married.

Bellamy grins at the crowd, shrugging. “Yeah, that sounds better.”

“We’re not getting married, though,” she adds, just to clear any confusion. At least, she’s hoping they’re not. Maybe Anya has different plans.

“Does this mean Lisbert is canon now?”

It’s Jaha who answers and Clarke lets out a breath of relief, leaning back in her chair. Once he gets to talking, there’s no shutting him up, and she’s pretty sure they’ve got a good ten minutes of all-clear before anyone thinks to ask the cast something.

As Jaha drones on about Bellamy and Clarke dating being different than Lisbeth and Robert doing the same on the show (“This is not a show about ships. Sure, we all love Lisbeth and Morgaine, but these kids have got to survive first. Who can think about romance?”), Raven rolls her eyes to infinity.

“Still want in on the merch?” Bellamy asks, voice barely louder than a whisper. He’s smirking, again, playing his hot Hollywood fave persona to the max, and Clarke rolls her eyes.

“The merch is awesome. I can’t wait to see Octavia. You, on the other hand – “

She doesn’t get the chance to finish what she was saying because a fan asks something about Lisbeth’s characters development and it’s too hectic after that. It doesn’t help that there’s still something lingering in the air between them from this morning, that one moment of what if.

Bellamy is such a perfect boyfriend for the rest of the con that even the reporters are gushing over how much he checks to see if she needs water or food (he’s been a mother hen ever since she passed out during a shoot last year because she forgot to eat, which totally happens) and his hand never leaves the small of her back.

It’s not until the two of them are talking to the press that things change.

“So, why did you fall in love with Clarke?”

Clarke interjects because they’ve got a backstory, of how their relationship apparently happened, but they don’t have reasons. People don’t. You just fall in love or you don’t. “Seriously, you’re not gonna ask us about our characters or – “

“It’s fine,” Bellamy tells her, flashing her a small smile, one of those smiles he has sometimes – those that feel like they’re worth more than the grins. “I’ve got this, Clarke.”

“If you’re sure.”

His expression in response is the same one she gets whenever he wants to do a particularly dangerous stunt. It’s ‘I’ve got this’, but it’s also ‘Thank you for asking’. That’s just how they are.

“We actually hated each other when we started filming,” he tells the journalist, hands clasped in front of him. “But we’re both professionals, we’re actors, and we never let that have any impact on Lisbeth and Robert.”

“If the shippers are anything to go by, you didn’t,” the journalist adds and both of them nod, fondly exasperated.

“Yeah, I hope so. And then we just drifted together, you know? Clarke also had Mario Kart in her trailer so that played a big role.” For that, he gets elbowed in the ribs and his responding grin is _blinding_. “I’m gonna be honest with you. I thought she wasn’t all that and I was so wrong. Clarke Griffin is an amazing person, a wickedly talented actress and she – she’s just – “

His hands have dropped into his lap and she finds them, squeezes a little, just to let him know that she’s still that.

“Clarke is my best friend. It all boils down to that. And the first time she told me to get my head out of the clouds because I’m not hot shit, yeah – that’s when I knew and that’s why I fell in love with her. She’s the only one who never lets me get away with anything.”

They barely make it through the remainder of the interview, Bellamy lacing his fingers through hers under the table, jittery and nervous, utterly unfocused when it comes to the questions, but when the journalist thanks them, they’re out of the room.

The hallway is full of people but they weave their way through the crowd, Clarke leading him outside until she can finally breathe. She’s been holding her breath ever since he said that she was his best friend and for a reason she can’t explain, it felt like more of an ‘I love you’ than the three words themselves.

He’s avoiding her gaze when they reach the parking lot, stars glistening in the sky above them.

“Anya’s going to give you so much shit for swearing,” she tells him, but can’t keep away the mirth out of her voice. It’s – it feels like something more, his words made her feel like there’s a fragile bubble of happiness inside her chest and now all she wants to do is collide with him.

What she does is rub her thumb across his, sneak a finger under his chin to make him look at her. “I’m not, though.”

He blinks at her, lips slightly parted and looking as breathless as she feels. It’s good to see him like this, nervous and flustered.

“Did you mean it?” she asks when he doesn’t make a move to say anything. “Did you mean it like I think you did?”

“What I meant is – I’m in love with you. It has nothing to do with the fake dating scheme. It’s been a long time coming, okay, so I don’t want you to think that – “

Bellamy never gets to finish that sentence because Clarke is just so fucking happy, that sort of happy that seems to stretch through her body, fill every crack with light, and she’s propping herself up on her toes and pressing her lips to his even before she’s aware of it.

For a second, neither of them move and she’s rethinking it, stepping away and shaking her head. “Yeah, no – of course you didn’t – “

But Bellamy is faster and all she hears is his vibrant laughter, feels his hands – solid, warm – on her sides as he pulls her in, kisses her again, loud and quiet and passionate and timid at the same time.

Bellamy doesn’t kiss like she’s imagined him to and for a while, it’s just the rhythm, how they seem to find one instantly, desperate for each other, hungry mouths, but it’s not as passionate as he is – it’s different. It’s the unrelenting flame that refuses to simmer down even in a downpour and she slides her hands into his hair, presses him closer.

Nothing is ever going to be close enough and she knows it, but she still tries because he’s a ray of warmth in a cloudy day and she’s desperate for summer.

It takes them ages to pull away, too busy soaking in each other, and when they do, Clarke clings to him in a daze, listening to his hoarse whisper, half-awake half-dreaming.

“- never told you, thought it’d be completely hopeless.”

That snaps her awake and she looks up at him, meets his gaze melting over her. “I heard literally nothing of what you’ve just said but it wouldn’t have been hopeless.”

He pecks her forehead, fond and amused and tired like she feels. The two of them always got along well with other people, but with each other – with each other they simply _fit_.

“We are kinda hopeless. You get that, right?”

Clarke laughs into his shirt, tries to savor the moment before it escapes her. “Just a little.”

 

*

lisert5ever: @princesscgriffin so, what’s going on?

no1princessclarkefan: @belugablake are u two dating or??

belugablake: @lisert5ever @no1princessclarkefan we are just really happy

ravenreyes: @lisert5ever @no1princessclarkefan they’re d o r k s – and you can quote me on that

**Author's Note:**

> That's it! Thank you all so much for reading! If you liked it, I'd love to hear your thoughts.


End file.
